


Joint Ops

by thedevilchicken



Category: Supernatural, iZombie (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, M/M, Sex, Walk Into A Bar, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 20:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Major has a zombie problem. Dean Winchester is there to help.





	Joint Ops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckydip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckydip/gifts).



> Set in a sort of vague, handwavy part of Supernatural and pre-S3 for iZombie.

The morning after the night before, Dean woke with a hangover roughly the size of Washington State. And frankly, when he realized the workboots by the door weren't Sam's, which pretty damn likely meant whoever was running the shower in the crappy hotel room's crappy bathroom wasn't Sam either, he thought he was pretty cool about it, considering. All he did was slap a pillow over his face in a half-hearted attempt to suffocate himself, beat it like a punchbag and then groan like the end of days. Totally cool. _Totally_.

The shower stopped. A couple of minutes passed. Then the bathroom door opened with an ominous creak - considering he'd dealt with ghosts and demons and vampires and a freaking wendigo, that had to be pretty damned ominous. He peeked past the pillow. The guy in the bathroom doorway with a starchy white towel slung around his waist smiled sheepishly in his general direction. 

"Hey," Major said. 

"Hey," Dean replied. 

"Did I wake you?"

Dean pulled himself up gingerly and leaned back against the headboard. 

"No, I'm pretty sure the pounding in my head did that."

"Hangover?"

"Sure, you could say that." He winced. "If you say it quieter, at least."

Dean was naked under the bed sheets. Major was naked under the towel. He had 100% hung a sock on the doorknob like some kind of fool so Sam wouldn't bust in and oh yeah, he'd totally intended to bone some guy he'd just met. Some strait-laced, personal trainer, jock-looking dude with perfect hair whose name was freaking _Major_.

But actually, the night before the morning after, that hadn't been the weirdest part. 

Dean was pretty sure that was the zombies. 

\---

They met in a bar. 

Pretty much all of Dean's one night stand stories started that way - they met in a bar, had a few laughs, one thing led to another. And okay, so he was pretty sure he'd gone there at least halfway looking to score, and okay, so that wasn't exactly something new, but usually he went back to his room with a girl. Usually a pretty one. Maybe even sober enough she'd remember his fake name in the morning, but mostly not. 

He was sitting at the bar, making eyes at a leggy brunette who may or may not have already had a few, when a guy walked in and threw himself down two stools away. Dean glanced at him. The guy glanced back. 

"Frickin' zombies, am I right?" he said, then he flagged down the bartender and ordered a beer with a whiskey chaser. 

For once, Dean was kind of at a loss for words. All he could think to say back was, "Zombies?"

"Zombies, man," he replied. "I swear, just when you think this town can't get any weirder..." 

He looked serious - exasperated, but serious - so either he was some kind of loon or, goddammit, Sam had been onto something with the whole creepy brain thing after all. So he gave the leggy brunette one last longing look, then he turned to the guy. 

"Okay, tell me about it," he said. 

The guy paused. He took a sip of his beer, looking Dean up and down. Then he held out his hand. 

"Major Lilywhite."

"Bullshit." 

Major shrugged. "Yeah, sometimes I think the same thing," he said, still holding out his hand. "Like, who even gives a kid a name like this?" He gave him a twisted up kind of a smile, half grin, half grimace. "My parents, that's who." 

Dean took his hand and shook it firmly. 

"Dean Winchester," he said, not totally sure why he'd given his real name but there it was. "My sympathies on the douchey name."

"Yeah, that's easy for you to say, you have a cool-sounding name, like a cowboy or something. You're like a damn Clint Eastwood movie. What am I?"

Dean raised his brows. "Pissed about zombies?" he suggested. 

It turned out he really, really was. But he also seemed pretty grateful for the company.

They drank and they talked and they drank some more. At some point they moved into a booth, when the bartender started looking at them like they needed psychiatric help, and Major leaned forward on the table, conspiratorial, like he knew he sounded nuts but what the hell, he didn't know Dean Winchester from Elvis. And his story sounded dumb, but maybe just dumb enough to be true - sentient zombies, human brains, something something neurodegeneration - because hey, it wasn't like Dean hadn't seen a thing or two. Or three. Or forty. 

The brunette left with another guy, but Dean only noticed in passing. The thing was, once you got past the fact the guy looked like he was about to seriously flip his lid and was telling a tale of woe about the living dead, he was pretty hot - when he smiled, it was just about as infectious as he said the whole zombie thing was. And the booze loosened him up and it loosened Dean up and they joked and they snickered and actually, they got along pretty well. Okay, so Major Lilywhite wasn't who Dean had pictured himself leaving with, but he figured he could do a whole lot worse. 

So, he flirted, about as subtle as a train wreck. Major looked at him kinda suspiciously with the first couple of comments but then Dean guessed something clicked because then they were _both_ flirting, more over the top as the minutes ticked by, so shitty at it between the two of them that it just made them laugh. Then Major cracked wise and he touched Dean's arm and when he did it, when he realized he'd done it, his smile kinda died where it was. He slid his hand down to Dean's wrist, slowly, and his fingertips found Dean's pulse. Their eyes met over the scuffed-up table. Major's face was flushed. 

"Wanna get out of here?" Dean asked. 

Major nodded. "Yeah," he said, like he was sure but wasn't. "I think I might like that."

They left together, stumbling into each other, shoulders shoulders bumping but Dean was pretty sure that was only half down to the drink. They took a shortcut Major knew, down a dark back alley because hell, there were two of them, and Dean felt pretty good about it, glancing at him, all dumb drunk smiles - he pushed Major up against a convenient wall behind what smelled like a really good Chinese restaurant and he kissed him, his hands around his wrists. 

He heard a groan. It wasn't him, and he was pretty sure it wasn't Major. And then the zombie attacked, because of course it did. 

Dean punched it in the face; no dice, its nose basically imploded but it just knocked him to the ground. Major thwacked it with a piece of wood he kicked out of a crate; the wood broke over its head and Major wound up shoved down next to him. They looked at each other. They were way too drunk for this shit, but they picked themselves up and carried on - Dean liked his brain exactly where it was. 

In the end, after a stupid, falling-down fight that they agreed they'd never speak of again, the zombie was dead and that was that. 

"Frickin' zombies, man," Major said, sitting breathless on the floor. 

Dean hauled himself up by the side of a dumpster and held out his hand. Major took it. 

"You think that's bad?" he replied. "Try hunting vampires."

"Vampires?"

Dean raised his brows. "You think you're the only one with issues?"

Major paused. He narrowed his eyes like he was trying to decide if Dean was mocking him. 

"Okay," he said, in the end. "Now we should probably get him out of here." Dean couldn't exactly say he disagreed. 

They got back to Dean's crappy hotel room nearly two hours later, tired the hell out, their boots covered in cemetery dirt, but they were reasonably sure no one would ever find the body - hell, Dean figured his skills had to come in useful for something, 'cause he'd made a shitty zombie hunter. 

He had a mostly-full bottle of Jack he snagged from the trunk of the car while Major peered in, wide-eyed, and they sat on the floor inside with their backs to the wall by the closet, passing the bottle between them. Major asked him who he was, what he did, what he _really_ did, so Dean told him stories, the good ones, some bad ones, because he figured why the hell not? They talked till they stripped off their clothes and got their hands on each other, still talking, _still talking_ , mouths muffled against skin, fooling around stretched out on Dean's twin bed. The only problem was, they were both too drunk and tired to fuck. 

Frickin' zombies, man; turned out they'd cockblock you every time.

\---

"Can I ask you something?" Major said. 

He was still standing in the bathroom doorway, leaning against it in a damn near threadbare hotel towel that hung at his hips like it was just about to fall. Dean looked at it, half hoping it would.

"Ask away," he replied, with a magnanimous gesture. 

"Do you regret last night?"

"You know we basically did nothing, right?"

He quirked his brows suggestively. "Yeah," he said. "That's what I mean."

Dean's head was throbbing. His hands were still sore from their adventures in gravedigging. He scratched his ear. He scratched the back of his neck. He smiled. There was pretty much no way he was letting a hangover screw this up.

"Lose the towel," he said. 

Major did exactly that: he untucked the towel and he tossed it to the floor with a kinda silly flourish. He clapped his hands to his thighs, he rested his hands at his hips, he let them bang by his sides, all like he was trying to keep himself from covering up. Dean looked him up and down and whistled his appreciation; Major scooped the towel back up and threw it at him, but embarrassed as he looked, he did at least seem more relaxed. 

"C'mere," Dean said, and beckoned ridiculously; Major snorted, but he did. He leaned down when he got to the side of the bed, ran his fingers over Dean's already ruffled-up hair, and bent over to kiss him. 

The whole thing seemed kinda surreal in the cold light of day but Dean decided what the hell. He topped Major down onto his back there on the bed, followed him over and straddled his thighs, his wrists in his hands up by the headboard. Major raised his brows but he didn't complain, he just shoved with his hips and flipped Dean onto his back and they wrestled their way across the bed till they fell like a couple of total jkackasses, a snickering heap of tangled limbs on the floor between his bed and Sam's. 

It didn't exactly help Dean's hangover to bounce his head off of the worn old carpet but he grinned despite himself as he wrapped his legs up tight around Major's waist. Then Major shifted his hips and suddenly it wasn't funny anymore because Major's dick was stiff and pressed against his ass. Neither of them were smiling anymore. 

Major shifted, his face flushed as he thumbed his cock down against Dean's hole. He rubbed it there, hot and faintly slick from pre-cum at the tip. 

"Like this?" Major asked. His voice sounded strained. 

"Yeah," Dean replied, not like his voice was any calmer. "Just..." He yanked his duffel from under the bed, unzipped, rummaged in it with one hand, cursed, tipped the whole thing out with Major's thick dick still pushed up against him till he came back with a tube of lube. He felt like he was blushing just as hard as Major was when he handed it over. 

Okay, they should've probably used a condom, but by the time Dean thought about that Major had already slicked himself up and pushed the tip of his cock inside him. And it was hot, doing it like that, Major's cock pushing up inside him as they lay there on the floor, so he just gripped at the bed frame and pulled his hips up higher, groaning out loud as Major pushed in deep. 

They did it there, on the goddamn floor, Major's stupid thick cock stretching Dean's ass open wide around it. He gripped Dean's thighs and Dean reached down between them both, and wrapped his hand around himself. Major groaned, gripping tighter till it almost hurt. So did Dean, feeling himself squeeze tight around the length of Major's cock. They both came not too long after, pretty much together, though Dean guessed that was more to do with luck than judgement. Then they dragged each other up onto the bed and sprawled. 

Dean had pulled a muscle. Major had rug burn on his knees. Apparently, though, neither of them really gave a damn about that. 

\---

Later, they met Sam in a diner for breakfast. The two of them - Sam and Major - shook hands over the tabletop, and then they all sat down to about a gallon of coffee. Dean pointedly ignored the look Sam gave him. He introduced the two of them instead. 

"Turns out Major has a zombie problem," Dean told Sam. "I said we'd stick around awhile and help."

As it happened, Sam didn't disagree with that. They stayed. They helped. But Dean for damn sure rented his own room that night. 

So maybe the story didn't work out like Dean intended - no pretty girl, more shambling undead. And maybe it wasn't exactly forever, but it was for more than just one night. 

Three weeks later, they spent one last night together, Major straddling Dean's hips, Dean's cock pushed in him deep. And afterwards, Dean gave him his number. Major flashed him a grin as he tied his boots, and he said he'd call. 

Dean knew he wouldn't exactly be waiting by the phone; chances were, he and Sam had work to do. They always had.

But, if Major called, he'd answer.


End file.
